


Alibi Anthem

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Fluff and Angst, Lies, M/M, Matt Murdock Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes, Matt thinks, is a little lie. If he tells the truth, Foggy will be angry. He’ll yell and cry and kick Matt right out into the cold. But if Matt says ‘accident’, he gets warm meals and warm blankets and warm Foggys.</p><p>If Matt lies, he gets everything he wants. Is that really so awful? No, no it’s not. There are worse things than a little white lie, one that makes everybody happier than the truth ever could.</p><p>One more lie can’t hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alibi Anthem

“I got mugged.”

 

“No.” Foggy says, and he sounds horrified. “ _Mugged?”_ Matt nods. “God. Are you alright? I mean, obviously you’re not alright, you just got _mugged,_ but are you—how are you feeling?”

 

“A little shaken up.” Matt admits. “But I’m okay.”

 

He’s not okay. Every word he says tastes bitter in his mouth, sour with guilt. Not for what he did last night, no. He’ll never feel guilty for that. The man deserved everything that he got, and Matt did it for all the right reasons. No matter how good it felt, he wasn’t doing it for himself. He was doing it for the little girl, and that’s something he can be proud of.

 

But lying to Foggy? _That_ he feels guilty for. And the thing is, Matt could tell him. They’re outside the firm, and no one’s around, and Foggy’s asking. This is the perfect chance to tell him, while Matt’s still looking so pathetic that Foggy probably won’t punch him. He can explain everything, and Foggy will understand because Foggy is like Matt. He wants to save people. He’d have _wanted_ Matt to help the girl—maybe not like this, but he’d understand. He might be furious for a while, but he’d understand eventually. This is the time to act. Matt opens his mouth…

 

And Matt says ‘I got mugged’.

 

“Oh, Matt.” Foggy sighs, and there are tender fingers brushing against his cheek, under the ache of the bruise. Matt shudders and tries not to sway into the touch. “Come on. I’m calling us in sick. Landman and Zack can survive one day without their prized interns.”

 

Foggy hates missing a day of free bagels and coffee, but he turns Matt right around and into a taxi, and calls them both in sick. Then he takes Matt home and tucks him in under the covers. Matt gets a soft spark of memory—his father did the same thing when Matt was sick, so very long ago, and he feels happy and sad all at once.

 

This, he thinks, is what family does. They tuck you into bed and take care of you when you need it most. Matt doesn’t have his father anymore, but he still has a family. It’s just a very small one.

 

“Why didn’t you call me last night when it happened? I would have come and pepper-sprayed the guy, maybe whacked him over the head with a softball bat.”

 

Matt almost smiles at the thought. That would have been a nice touch. Matt thinks he got the message across just fine, but there’s no such thing as overkill in a situation like that.

 

He’s relatively sure Foggy doesn’t want to hear how attractive Matt finds the idea of him pepper-spraying someone.

 

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Is what he says instead, sheepish. “I really am okay.”

 

“’Okay’? You got _mugged_!” Foggy reminds him disbelievingly. “Look, I get that you’re a superman, but no one would be okay after that. I’d be hiding under the bed—after pepper-spraying and softball bats, obviously.”

 

“Obviously.” Matt agrees gently. “I might have done a little hiding.” Not likely. That monster of a man should be the one who’s hiding, when he’s not busy eating his meals through a straw.

 

“Did they catch the guy who did it?” Foggy asks, worried. “I mean, I get that you can’t pick him out of a lineup or anything, but…something?”

 

“It all happened so fast.” Matt evades. “I don’t remember much—it’s all a blur.” That’s a lie. He remembers every moment with crystal clarity. “I got to keep my wallet though, which is good. It’s the one you got me for my birthday.” He’d kept everything _in_ his wallet too, mostly because he’d left it at home when he put on the blindfold.

 

“But he took all your other stuff, and then he roughed you up anyway. Bastard.” Foggy hisses. “I hate people sometimes. They think that violence solves everything.” Matt shrugs awkwardly, because in his experience violence _does_ solve pretty much everything. Foggy sighs. “But hey, getting angry won’t change what happened, and it won’t make you feel better. So, what would? You want something to eat, something to drink, something to listen to? Anything?”

 

_I want to tell you the truth, but that wouldn’t make either of us feel better._

“Maybe some ice cream?” Matt asks tentatively. His father had done that when Matt was sick or sad. It’s something that Matt missed, but it seemed embarrassing to ask for, at the orphanage or after. Whiny, he thinks, almost babyish. Matt doesn’t _need_ to be taken care of, he’s stronger than that, but if Foggy _wants_ to…

 

“Ice cream. I can do that.” Foggy agrees eagerly, tucking Matt in a little more firmly. “I saw a vendor outside. I’ll just run down and get you some. You stay in bed.” He orders, and before Matt can tell him to grab some ‘new’ money from Matt’s wallet to pay for it, Foggy’s gone.

 

Matt considers his options while he waits. It’s still early enough that he could back out, tell Foggy the truth. Foggy might beat him over the head with an ice cream bar, but it’s still the right thing to do. If he doesn’t tell the truth now, he never will. And if Foggy finds out on his own, Matt _will_ lose him.

 

The door opens, awkwardly. Judging by the thump, Foggy pushed it open with his foot a little too hard. There’s a rustle of plastic wrappers rubbing together—a lot of them. Just how much ice cream did Foggy buy?

 

“Okay, I know what you like when you’re healthy, but sometimes comfort foods are different, so I just got a couple things. We have…Chipwich, Screwball, Choco Taco, Bomb Pop, Lemon Ice, and Creamsicle.” Matt blinks.

 

“Did you leave any ice cream for the poor, hungry children of Hell’s Kitchen?” He asks wryly, and Foggy snorts.

 

“Are you kidding? I had to fight them off on the way back. They’re like a pack of rabid, sugar-loving wolves.” He makes an excited noise. “Oh, I also got these cool novelty ice cream bars, the limited edition Avengers pack. You can suck on _Thor’s Hammer_ , Matt. Which sounds dirty and probably tastes delicious.”

 

Matt can’t contain a burst of astonished laughter.

 

“Can you really?” He asks, delighted. Foggy makes a sound of agreement from somewhere in the kitchen.

 

“Sounds like we have a winner.” He cheers. “Alright, I’ll put the rest away. You don’t have any other food anyway—you can eat them for breakfast.”

 

A dozen sugary ice cream treats as a balanced breakfast. Only Foggy would think that makes sense, Matt thinks fondly.

 

There’s the whoosh of the freezer opening and closing, and then the scuff of socks on hardwood as Foggy shuffles back into the room. The bed dips and Matt feels a slender wooden stick pushed into his hand.

 

“I got us both one. Who _doesn’t_ want to suck on Thor’s Hammer?” Foggy sighs happily. “It feels so wrong, but tastes so right.”

 

“You’re awful.” Matt laughs, but when he takes a lick he _does_ have to admit that Thor’s Hammer tastes delicious. “Thank you.”

 

“For being awful?” Foggy teases, and Matt smacks his arm gently. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t get all sappy on me. Hey, move over. We are going to lounge while we eat our ice cream, just like they probably do on Asgard during their many feasts of glory and conquest.”

 

“I sincerely hope they’re not all sucking on Thor’s hammer at those feasts.” He muses as he rolls a little to the side, and Foggy gives a shocked laugh.

 

“Now who’s awful?” He accuses, settling in next to Matt so they’re pressed together side-to-side. “Although, let me tell you—Thor? Yum.”

 

“Really?” Matt wonders, and although he’s curious he also feels a brief burst of irritation. He’s heard that Thor is attractive, but that doesn’t mean he wants _Foggy_ to think he’s attractive. Matt sort of wants to tear the popsicle out of his hand and out the window. He doesn’t want Foggy anywhere near Thor’s hammer— _any_ of them, innuendo or otherwise.

 

“Pretty cute. Not my type, but cute.” Foggy explains easily. Matt barely contains a sigh of relief. Not Foggy’s type, thank goodness. Matt’s pretty sure he couldn’t compete with a legendary pseudo-god of thunder in a one-on-one battle for Foggy’s affections.

 

“Good.” Matt says, somewhat smugly, and they eat their ice cream in companionable silence.

 

“You want anything else?” Foggy asks when he gets up to throw away their sticks and wrappers. “Something hot this time? I could make tea—which is pretty much the only thing you have in your kitchen, by the way. Tea and cobwebs.”

 

“Tea would be nice.” Matt admits. He’s a little cold from the ice cream. He snuggles a little more comfortably under the blankets while Foggy goes to get the water going.

 

Would lying just a little longer really be a bad thing? Matt’s tired, and Foggy is so eager to take care of him. Matt can just say ‘mugged’ until he’s feeling better, and then he’ll tell the truth. And maybe Foggy will be angry, but with a little more time Matt can think of a way to say it better, to make Foggy understand.

 

Just a little longer.

 

“You look so broody.” Foggy teases, a clink of china as he bring in the cups. “I wish we had lemon and honey—your voice sounds a little scratchy. I hope you’re not catching a cold on top of being mugged. That would suck.”

 

“I’m fine.” Matt assures him, taking a careful sip and sighing. Perfect. He feels the warmth seeping into his bones. “Do they lounge while drinking tea on Asgard too?” He asks, shifting over accommodatingly.

 

“You know it. I mean, probably more mead than tea, but they’re basically the same thing.” Foggy agrees, settling in next to him again. He’s over the covers, and Matt wonders if he can convince him to get under them instead. Matt could feel even warmer then. He sips his tea instead, too afraid to ask—just like he has been for years, almost as long as he’s known Foggy.

 

“Thank you.” Matt says once he’s finished. He feels like he’s been saying it a lot today, and he’s going to be saying it a lot more.

 

“You done?” Matt nods, and feels Foggy pulling the cup from his fingers. There’s another light clink of china as Foggy puts their cups aside. “Anything else?” Matt shakes his head, a little dozy now that he’s warm and full—of sugar and tea rather than real food, yes, but still full.

 

“I think I might close my eyes for a while.” He admits. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” He’d slept very well, actually, but lying to Foggy is surprisingly draining. He’s already exhausted from it.

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Foggy says sympathetically. “Okay. You take a nice, long nap.” Matt nods slowly.

 

“Are you going to stay here or go home?” He asks. If Foggy stays, he can tell Foggy about the girl when he wakes up, when he’s better rested. Maybe. If Foggy leaves, it might give Matt more time to think of a valid explanation. The second option is probably wiser, but Matt still wants the first one more. Foggy hums thoughtfully, shifting closer.

 

“Here.” Foggy decides. “We can order you something that actually registers on the food pyramid when you wake up. I’ll stand guard.” He says it so solemnly, like he’s going to protect Matt from the world.

 

He already does, in all the ways that matter.

 

“My hero.” He mumbles with a sleepy smile, and it’s true. This is perfect. He’ll tell Foggy when he wakes up, but he can have this. He can have a few hours where everything’s simple and safe.

 

“Don’t you be sassy.” Foggy warns him, but it’s affectionate. “Sleep tight, Matt. Feel better.” Matt can’t quite get the energy to nod, half-asleep already.

 

When he wakes up, Foggy’s lying next to him, close enough that it’s easy, so easy to push the blankets down a little and wrap an arm around him. Foggy must have drifted off sometime during his ‘guard duty’, Matt thinks fondly.

 

Matt feels much better, well-rested and warm. Now is when he should wake Foggy up and tell him the truth. He can do this.

 

Foggy moves under his arm, stretching a little.

 

“I was guarding.” He mumbles. “Promise.” Matt smiles and tugs Foggy closer.

 

“It’s alright. It’s my turn to guard you.” He murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“’Kay.” Foggy sighs, and a second later his breathing evens out again. Matt waits until he’s sure Foggy’s out, and then carefully presses a kiss to his forehead.

 

No. No, Foggy never needs to know. Matt can keep it a secret, and then he can keep this too. It’s better this way. They can both be happy. Sometimes a kind lie is better than a cruel truth.

 

And it’s just _one_ lie. It’s not like Matt’s going to do it again.

 

That would be crazy.

 

* * *

 

“I fell down the stairs.”

 

Matt does it again. It’s not just one lie, and it _is_ crazy.

 

It’s become a twisted sort of ritual. When Matt has a bad night, he goes to Foggy. Sometimes he’s hurt, so he tells Foggy he had an ‘accident’, and sometimes he’s just feeling worn-down and weary, so he tells Foggy that he’s ‘sick’.

 

He never tells the truth.

 

“You fell down the _stairs_?” Matt nods, eyes wide and mournful. Foggy likes seeing his eyes, so Matt skipped the glasses. It can only help his case.

 

“Just a few.” He demurs. “It wasn’t that bad, but I’m still a little sore.”

 

Truthfully, fighting in the mask really _is_ a lot like falling down the stairs. You get hit a lot on the way down.

 

“Do you need a doctor?” Foggy asks, anxious. Matt shakes his head. “Really?”

 

“Really.” Matt tells him firmly. “I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.” 

 

“Of course I’m going to worry.” Foggy argues, exasperated. “You just leveled-up in clumsy, or else you earned yourself a hardcore hex. It seems like you’re having more accidents every day. Honestly, I’m considering handcuffing us together so I can keep an eye on you.”

 

Handcuffs and Foggy would normally be a winning combination in Matt’s book, but unfortunately Matt needs to have his nights unsupervised.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you might want to get dinner.” Matt offers casually, and there is a brief silence.

 

“You just fell down the stairs, and you want to go get _dinner?”_ Foggy checks incredulously. Matt nods.

 

“Falling down stairs isn’t exactly a satisfying meal.” He points out. “I’m hungry, and I thought if I was dropping by anyway it might be nice to go together.”

 

“That…makes very little sense, but okay.” Foggy agrees quickly. “God knows you’ll probably walk right into an volcano if I’m not there to stop you. But let’s order in, okay? Less volcanoes.”

 

Matt beams and lets Foggy order anything and everything he wants from the Thai place, on Matt’s dime— _after_ Foggy has poked and prodded at all the bruises to make sure they’re not too serious.

 

“Wow. Stairs, huh?” He wonders thoughtfully. Matt nods. “I hope they arrest those stairs. They’re clearly a danger to society.”

 

After a few more probing questions Foggy seems satisfied. Luckily, an untrained eye like Foggy’s apparently has trouble differentiating types of bruises. He seems to really believe that Matt got the marks from stairs rather than fists.

 

The problem is, Matt muses at they’re eating dinner, is that it’s so incredibly _easy_ to lie to Foggy.

 

Foggy always believes him. There’s not even any question—if Matt says something is true, Foggy will never doubt him. And that’s always been a blessing, having someone who trusts him that much. He’s always loved feeling that kind of connection to someone, where no lies are needed between them.

 

But the fact that Foggy assumes Matt never lies to him is _precisely_ what makes it so easy to lie.

 

And it feels—not _good,_ exactly. Matt hates lying to Foggy, and he knows that one day this house of cards is going to come tumbling down around him and he’ll regret every moment, but at the same time…

 

It’s nice, having something so completely untouched by his nights in the mask. Foggy is something that’s safe, that Matt has known and loved for years. Foggy is familiar—no, Foggy is _home_. He’s something just for Matt, not for whatever creature Matt becomes at night when he goes hunting for a fight.

 

And Matt needs to keep him. If that means lying, so be it. Matt would do _anything._

 

“Did you hit your head on the stairs?” Foggy asks, and even though it’s teasing there’s an undercurrent of genuine concern. “You’ve been spacing out all night.”

 

“No, it’s nothing.” Matt assures him hastily. “I was just…I was thinking about how much I missed doing this.” He waves around the apartment, and hears Foggy sigh.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Foggy agrees. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore.” Matt blinks.

 

“What?” He asks, disbelieving. Foggy’s putting it out as a joke, there’s something serious underneath. A real worry.

 

“Well, you never wanted to go out at night anymore. You gave so many excuses, and I know you’re probably busy but it still kind of hurt. And—I don’t know. You’ve been distant lately. You don’t smile as much, and you never want to talk, and sometimes I feel like you’re avoiding me.” He laughs, and it’s awkward. “If we were dating, I’d think you were trying to break up with me.”

 

Oh. Matt feels cold and so, so guilty. He’d been drawn in by his new lifestyle and getting a rhythm going, but he’d never meant to alienate Foggy in the process.

 

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He swears earnestly. “Of course I like you. I’ve just had a lot on my mind, so I’ve been a little distracted.” A lot distracted. “But you’ve been wonderful. I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“Still sounding kind of like a break-up speech.” Foggy tells him, weakly amused. “It’s not me, it’s you?”

 

Matt shakes his head, frowning.

 

“It’s not either of us, because nothing’s wrong.” He tells Foggy. “I’ve been a little preoccupied, but I’m going to fix that. I promise, I’ll be there for you more.”

 

Foggy is quiet for a moment.

 

“And now it sounds like a get-back-together speech, with the begging and the grand promises.” Foggy points out, sighing. “Matt, you don’t need to be sorry, okay? Just keep me in the loop. Let me know when and _why_ you’re feeling preoccupied, and I can help you. That’s what I’m here for—well, that and free Thai.”

 

And now, _now_ Matt needs to tell him. It’s been months, and Matt’s starting to realize that he’s never going to stop doing it again, no matter how crazy it is. If this is going to be his life from now on, he needs to let Foggy know. Foggy has a right to choose whether he wants to stay near someone who’s constantly in danger, who might put _Foggy_ in danger.

 

 _No_ , that’s never going to happen. Foggy is never going to be in danger, because Matt can protect him. That’s the point of this, to protect people. Foggy would understand that.

 

Foggy would _probably_ understand that. And it’s the ‘probably’ that’s the sticking point. Matt can’t risk it. He can risk his life, but he can’t risk losing Foggy.

 

“I’m worrying about tomorrow.” It’s true. Matt doesn’t have to lie to Foggy to keep his secret. Half-truths are better. They make Matt feel half as guilty. “It’s a big step.”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who said it was time to strike out on our own.” Foggy points out. “And you spent a month convincing me what a good idea this was. No backing out now, buddy.”

 

“I’m not backing out.” Matt assures him. “Nelson and Murdock is everything I’ve ever wanted, I just—I worry.”

 

It will be harder to hide the littler bumps and bruises from Foggy when it’s just the two of them, all day every day. There are only so many ‘accidents’ Matt can have before Foggy will realize something’s wrong, and Matt is _not_ relishing the thought of what happens then.

 

He should make a contingency plan, but he can’t quite let himself think of it. That would mean admitting that Foggy is going to be angry, and Matt’s mind seems unwilling to accept this as an option.

 

“You worry _too_ much, you know.” Foggy tells him fondly. “You’re going to get wrinkles—frowny, broody lines all over your face. And maybe you won’t see them but I will, and then I’ll worry, and then I’ll get frowny lines and we’ll both be wrinkly lawyers that scare off clients with our wrinkly, frowny faces.”

 

“What?” Matt asks, startled out of his—okay, yes, broody frowning—by this outlandish prediction. “I’m not going to get frown lines.” Foggy hums, considering.

 

“You don’t have any yet.” He agrees. “Which should be impossible given the amount of frowning you do. You’ve got a smooth little baby face though—minus the stubble, of course. You go one day without shaving and you look like a hobo.”

 

“I do not.” Matt snaps, but he does reach up surreptitiously to check his cheek. A little bristly, but nothing too wild. Foggy laughs.

 

“No, you don’t. Actually, you have this weird, perpetual five o’clock shadow thing going on. It’s kind of glorious, and I am entirely jealous. You look like a model.”

 

Matt beams at him and takes a victorious bite of his noodles.

 

“I’m sure you look very handsome too.” He tells Foggy generously, and when Foggy snorts he adds earnestly, “No, really. You keep accusing me of being able to track attractiveness, so you should trust me on this.”

 

“You’re a smooth operator, aren’t you?” Foggy accuses affectionately. “Alright, so we’re both hot and we’re both brilliant. We have nothing to worry about, Matt. We’re going to be the best lawyers ever, saving Hell’s Kitchen one client at a time.”

 

“You’re right.” Matt agrees, warmed by the thought. This is what he wants. He can be a little more careful, hide the bruises a little better, and he can save Hell’s Kitchen day and night without losing Foggy.

 

“Hey, there’s my happy hobo.” Foggy approves, flicking his cheek gently. “I like the smile—let’s see some more of those in the near future, okay?” Matt nods obediently. “Good. You need anything else? Because dinner’s all well and good, but it doesn’t actually cure falling down the stairs.”

 

Matt considers for a moment. He really doesn’t need anything else—he didn’t even need the dinner, really, or at least he didn’t need to bother Foggy with it. But he’s here, and Foggy’s asking. Foggy wants to help.

 

Foggy always wants to help.

 

Normally Matt lets Foggy call the shots after an ‘accident’. It makes him feel a little less guilty that way. He doesn’t _ask_ Foggy to give him a quick shoulder massage and make him a cold drink. He doesn’t _ask_ Foggy to stroke his hair and tell him funny stories to make him smile. He doesn’t _ask_ Foggy to hug him and take care of him and tell him everything’s going to be okay.

 

And that’s a choice, right? Foggy _chooses_ to help him, even when Matt doesn’t ask.

 

Nothing would change if Matt told him the truth—Matt would still need help, and he’d still need Foggy. But Foggy might be…confused. He might be upset, not quite thinking clearly. He might be too distracted by Matt lying to notice Matt hurting. And that would just harm both of them in long run, really.

 

Telling him would just make things complicated. This is better.

 

And maybe…maybe asking for one little thing wouldn’t hurt. Foggy would give it to him anyway, right? This is just saving time.

 

“I’m a little cold.” Matt confesses, unsure. He’s not sure how far he can push this.

 

“Cold. I can fix that.” Foggy repeats, determined. “Okay, blankets. Lots of blankets. You stay there and finish your noodles.” Matt does, meekly, and listens as Foggy bustles around the apartment.

 

Just as he’s finishing his last bite, something soft is draped over his head.

 

“You get the fluffiest bathrobe, really thick and warm.” Foggy tells him proudly. “I’m going to run some blankets through the drier for a few minutes, and then you can curl up under those. Sound good?”

 

Matt sighs at the thought of warm blankets, and shrugs happily into Foggy’s robe. It smells like him, Matt thinks blissfully. He feels better already, not nearly as sore as he was when he got here. A few hours nestled in Foggy robe and under Foggy’s blankets, and Matt will feel as good as new.

 

And all it takes, he thinks, is a little lie. If he tells the truth, Foggy will be angry. He’ll yell and cry and kick Matt right out into the cold. But if Matt says ‘accident’, he gets warm meals and warm blankets and warm Foggys.

 

If Matt lies, he gets everything he wants. Is that really so awful? No, no it’s not. There are worse things than a little white lie, one that makes everybody happier than the truth ever could.

 

One more lie can’t hurt.

 

Just one more.

 

* * *

 

“Car crash.”

 

“Jesus. You got _hit?”_ Matt nods. He _feels_ sort of like he got hit by a car. Claire had said that he was lucky to be alive. It’s the first time Matt’s passed out in a dumpster, but he has an ominous feeling that it won’t be the last.

 

“It wasn’t going very fast.” He assures Foggy. “It bumped me more than anything. I didn’t even have to see a doctor. A nurse gave me some stitches and sent me home.”

 

At least one part of that was the truth. Matt didn’t see a doctor, and a nurse did stitch him up.

 

“Let me see.” Foggy orders. Matt nods, pulling up his shirt just a little to show Foggy some of the less serious ones. “God, Matt. I’m calling Karen. We’re staying home today.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“No, we need to be there. We’re not established enough to take days off every time I get a papercut.”

 

“You got hit by a _car._ That’s not the same thing.” Foggy argues, alarmed. Matt shrugs.

 

“The point is that we can’t let the little things stop us. I can work, Foggy.”

 

“The _little things_? You getting hurt is not a little thing.” Foggy tells him sharply. “It seems to be a common one, lately, but it is never a little thing. It is never an okay thing.”

 

“Hey, no. I know that.” Matt soothes, even though it sort of _has_ become a little thing. Except for the bad nights, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s hurt. It’s just background noise at this point. “I just mean that I don’t want to let it ruin the things that are important to me. Working with you, that’s important to me, and just because I’m sore doesn’t mean I want to give up on that. I can do it.”

 

“I don’t know…” Foggy hesitates. Matt gives him most determined smile, and the puppy eyes. At this point, he just tucks his glasses into his pocket when he feels Foggy coming. He’s been needing the puppy eyes with increasing regularity. “You stay in your chair. No heavy lifting, and if you feel any worse, you tell me and we leave. Deal?”

 

“Deal.” Matt agrees, relieved.

 

Of course, nothing is that simple. James Wesley and John Healy happen, and Matt spends most of the day running around and trying to get an obviously guilty man off the hook for murder. Then the obviously guilty man kills himself, and the Russians are mobilizing for war, and Claire is in trouble, and the time blurs together. There’s too little time for healing, and too much need for heavy lifting. The whole city is going to hell in a handbasket.

 

And then the bombs go off, and Matt realizes that no handbasket is required. Hell has arrived, and Hell’s Kitchen has just reached boiling point.

 

“Oh, thank god.” Foggy gasps, and drags him into a tight hug. Matt barely contains a hiss when it bumps a few of his worse cuts and bruises, but Foggy doesn’t manage to stay as quiet. “ _Ow.”_

 

“You’re hurt.” Matt says, stunned. _You’re bleeding._ “Why aren’t you at the hospital?”

 

“I—ow—was at the hospital, but then _somebody_ wasn’t answering his phone, and I couldn’t just sit there. Honestly, if you weren’t here I was going to start printing up wanted posters.”

 

Most of the city seems to share the sentiment, Matt thinks darkly, and not in the nice way that Foggy does. He’s possibly the most wanted man in Hell’s Kitchen. It took ten minutes to turn every single person he was trying to protect against him.

 

“My phone must have died.” Matt feels guilty about not checking it sooner, but he’d been so tired when he finally dragged himself home. Apparently somewhere in his voicemail is a message from Foggy saying that he’s hurt, and that Matt wasn’t there to help him. A lot of messages, probably.

 

Matt is going to make himself listen to every single one.

 

“You dork, you need to charge it at night like I told you.” Foggy scolds, but it’s weak. “Are you okay? I mean, I saw the news and it was awful, all that video. And you were already banged up from the car crash…” He pulls away, and Matt thinks he must be looking Matt up and down for injuries.

 

Matt shifts a little uncomfortably. There are a lot of injuries to find, if he gives Foggy the chance. Some from the bombs, and some from the ‘car crash’.

 

“I was a little closer than I’d like to one of the explosions.” Matt admits. “But I’m okay. I didn’t even need a hospital.”

 

Claire had been so busy with everyone else—Matt hadn’t dared ask her to drop everything and take care of him. And there’s no way Matt was going to show anyone else what was wrong. He could handle the injuries himself, like he used to before he met Claire. No need to worry people.

 

Matt doesn’t like making people worry. Part of it’s to protect their feelings, and part of it is because when people try to help it feels like they’re smothering him. They act like he’s made of glass and they need to cover him in bubble wrap and keep him tucked in a box, away from the world.

 

And then there’s Foggy.

 

“You shouldn’t be such a tough guy all the time.” Foggy chides. “You want to limp over to the couch and lick our wounds together?”

 

Matt nods, smiling tentatively. And then there’s Foggy. Foggy doesn’t pity him or treat him like glass. Foggy tries to protect him, but that’s not the same thing at all.

 

It’s sort of nice, being the protected instead of the protector.

 

“Did you have to get stitches?” Matt asks, concerned. He already knows the answer. Blood and iodine and he can recognize the slide of thread on thread—shirt on suture.

 

“Yeah, a couple.” Foggy says as they settle in, casually, like it’s nothing. It’s _not_ nothing. Foggy’s not like Matt—he’s not used to stitches. He must be hurting, and he’s just sitting here and acting like everything’s okay. It makes Matt feel scared and sick.

 

Oh, god. Is this what Foggy feels like every time Matt has an ‘accident’? It’s _awful._ How does Foggy survive this and still have energy left to take care of Matt?

 

“Blankets.” Matt says suddenly, inspiration striking. “Blankets, and tea, and ice cream, and—everything.” He tries desperately to remember every nice thing Foggy’s ever done for him while Matt’s been hurting. “Anything. What do you want?”

 

He can do this. He can take care of Foggy instead, this time.

 

“I want you to sit back down and hug me, dummy.” Foggy informs him dryly. Matt blinks, but obeys. “There, much better. So, you sure you’re okay? Because some of the things I saw—serious nightmare fuel, Matt.” Matt nods, holding him a little tighter.

 

“The bombs, I know.” He agrees. “But they’ll find the person responsible.”

 

And when he does, Matt is going to make sure that person understands why you do _not_ mess with his city.

 

“But they think they _did_ find the person. The man in the mask _.”_ Foggy tells him. “That’s the video I was talking about. All these cops, and there were guns, and all I could think of is that you were out in that.”

 

Matt was very _much_ out in that.

 

“But I’m okay.” He reminds Foggy gently, and then hesitates. “And the man in the mask… I heard about him. Do you think he’s guilty?” It’s tempting fate, bringing it up like this, but he has to know.

_Please say no, please say no, please say no._

“No way.” Foggy assures him quickly, and Matt can hardly contain a sigh of sheer relief. “Come on, Matt. Give me a little credit.” Matt smiles.

 

“Good. I don’t think he’s guilty either.” He admits, trying to sound like it’s just an objective judgment from afar instead of ‘oh, thank you, thank _god_ they didn’t turn you against me too’.

 

“Well yeah, I assumed. It is _you_ we’re talking about, you softie.” Foggy teases. “So, the hostages? The bombs?”

 

“Framed.” Matt explains, hopefully not too eagerly. “He has to have been. And I’m sure he had a reason to fight those officers. Obviously, right?”

 

 _Is_ it obvious? It’s hard to give an unprejudiced analysis on Matt’s end. But if Foggy thinks he’s innocent, then it must be clear, at least to intelligent people.

 

“Definitely.” Foggy agrees. “I have no clue what it is, though.”

 

Matt’s not quite sure how to phrase this in a way that will seem vaguely interested as opposed to desperate.

 

“Maybe the officers had something to do with the bombs?” He ‘hypothesizes’. “You know that not all of them are like Brett. There are some bad ones too.”

 

Matt is slowly but surely making a list of every one of them, starting with Detectives Hoffman and Blake.

 

“Well, yeah. It’s Hell’s Kitchen—corruption is sort of a given.” Foggy points out. “It’s a scary thought though, isn’t it? I mean, who can you trust if you can’t trust the cops?” He sighs. “You know, sometimes I think you’re the only honest man left in the world. You’re the only one who’s never lied to me.”

 

Foggy’s close enough that Matt can _feel_ his heartbeat, not just hear it. He can hear his own heart too, beating together through cages of bone. Foggy’s heart is steady, a little slow—tired, Matt thinks. Sleepy, relaxed.

 

Matt’s knows the signs. Heartbeat spiking, breath quickening, body tensing— _guilty._ Matt’s heart, Matt’s breath, Matt’s body.

 

Matt is probably the _least_ honest man in the world. He’s been lying to his best friend every single day for months.

 

He wonders for a terrible moment if Foggy can hear Matt’s heart. He’s so close, breath warm on Matt’s neck and body soft in his arms, and Matt’s guilty heartbeat is so _loud._

 

Telltale heart. What tale is Matt’s heart telling?

 

“You’re nervous.” Foggy muses quietly, and Matt jumps when he feels gentle fingers press against his throat, right along the pulse. “That or you’re having a heart attack. What’s wrong, Matt?”

 

Matt freezes. Foggy _can_ feel it. Foggy knows something’s not right, and there’s nothing Matt can do to stop it. Does Foggy know that he’s lying? How much can he tell just from a heartbeat?

 

Is this what it’s like? To know that someone is listening, and there’s nowhere to hide because your own heartbeat is betraying you?

 

This is _terrible._

 

“I—“ Matt doesn’t know what to say. Will Foggy know if he lies? He’s still listening, fingers warm against Matt’s throat. “I’m scared.” He admits.

 

No lying. His heart might speed up more, and he’ll look even guiltier. Just bend the truth.

 

Matt’s good at that.

 

“Why would you be scared?” Foggy wonders. “We’re all okay.” He considers for a second. “Are you scared about the bombs?” Matt hesitates, but shakes his head. He’s furious about the bombs, but he’s not scared. “Are you scared about the man in the mask?” Matt cautiously shrugs. “Me too. He’ll be fighting the whole city now, and he’s just one guy. That must be rough.”

 

“I suppose it must be.” Matt offers neutrally. Careful, be careful. Don’t give too much away. “It’s not just that. I think I’m just scared in general. Scared of what’s going to happen.”

 

“You know you can ask me for help, right?” Foggy tells him softly. “You can tell me anything.”

 

“I know.” Matt assures him, and that’s true. He _can_ tell Foggy anything, but that doesn’t mean he _should._ “Thank you.”

 

“And if you need something, all you have to do is ask.” Foggy encourages. “Anything you want.”

 

This, Matt thinks, is a test of character. Foggy is hurt and shaken and clearly in need of comfort. Matt shouldn’t be asking for anything—he should be giving _Foggy_ whatever he wants. Matt already asks for too much—more and more after the blankets and the robe and the ice cream.

 

Chicken soup, hot chocolate, ice packs, heating pads, soft music, warm showers, warmer hugs. Anything and everything, and Foggy gives it to him. 

 

Foggy’s given him enough. There’s nothing else Matt can ask for.

 

Almost.

 

“Anything?” Matt murmurs, and Foggy makes a noise of agreement. “Anything I want?”

 

“Uh-huh. Anything that you think will make you feel better.” Foggy promises. Matt nods, thoughtful. _Don’t ask. Not now, not ever. There’s a reason you’ve never done it. You know it’s a bad idea._

Anything to make Matt feel better.

 

Foggy makes a startled sound when Matt kisses him, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s already enough to be grateful for, but then after a moment Foggy starts kissing back.

 

He tastes like orange juice and shortbread cookies—he must have had a snack at the hospital, to help with his blood sugar and the shock. The nurses were probably fawning over him. Matt knows that Foggy can be incredibly charming when he wants to be.

 

Foggy can also apparently be an incredibly good kisser when he wants to be. Why did Matt think this was a bad idea? It’s the best idea in the world. He doesn’t even feel sore anymore. He just feels amazing, light and happy. He should have asked for this ages ago, the first time he lied.

 

Oh.

 

“You don’t have to do this.” Matt tells him when he pulls away, but he can’t manage more than a moment before leaning back in for another quick kiss. “When you said ‘anything’—“ Kiss. “I know this wasn’t what you meant, but I just—“ Kiss. “I just need this for second. Just one more—“ Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Not just one more. “And I won’t ask again.”

 

“You sure as hell better ask again.” Foggy advises, sounding a little dazed but certainly not unhappy. “When I said ‘anything’, I meant like a bedtime story or something, but this is good too. Really good. Perfect.”

 

“Really?” Matt asks, stunned. When Foggy makes a sound of vague approval, Matt stays for a much longer kiss this time, running his hands over Foggy’s hair, neck, shoulders, back—anywhere and everywhere he can touch. He sighs happily when Foggy returns the touches tenfold.

 

They have to be careful, of course. They’re both still hurt and tired, but that doesn’t mean a bit of lazy kissing on the couch is out of the question. It feels a little surreal, because Matt can’t remember the last time he spent minutes at a time just kissing like this without even thinking about anything more.

 

Later, definitely, but right now this is more than enough.

 

“Feel better?” Foggy asks some time later. Matt nods dreamily, using the motion as an opportunity to nuzzle briefly at Foggy’s cheek. “Are we just going to stay here all night?” Matt nods again. “Cool.”

 

“Is this okay?” Matt checks. He’s not sure he could take it if Foggy said no, not now that Matt knows what he was missing all this time, but he’s _entirely_ sure that he would never force Foggy to do anything he didn’t want to.

 

“Yeah.” Foggy assures him easily. “This is a lot more fun than a bedtime story. To be clear though, this isn’t some life-affirming fling, right? It’s the real deal?”

  
  
“Very real.” Matt agrees. “I’ve wanted this for years.” Foggy snorts softly.

 

“Same. Look at us, two shy little lovebirds.” He sighs. “Man, we could have been doing this since law school.”

 

“Since day one.” Matt informs him, and Foggy makes a sound of agreement. Matt grins at the idea. Since day one, for both of them.

 

“See, this is why honesty is important in a relationship.” Foggy tells him wisely. “To avoid stuff like this. If I’d just said ‘hey, you’re hot and sort of amazing, let’s run away together and be sexy lawyer boyfriends’, it would have saved us a lot of pining time.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt agrees faintly, a dull feeling of dread creeping in. _Honesty is important in a relationship._

 

“Hey, you’re nervous again.” Foggy muses, and of course he noticed. His lips are resting just under Matt’s jaw, right over the pulse. This is dangerous. Matt is realizing very quickly that it is not nearly as convenient, being on the other side of things. Having someone reading your thoughts and feelings from your heartbeat is terrifying.

 

He pulls away, covering the motion by pretending to get into a more comfortable position on the couch. Foggy seems on board with this idea, settling happily on top of him, laying his head on Matt’s shoulder. Right shoulder, thank goodness. There’s no way he can feel Matt’s heartbeat from there.

 

Probably. Matt’s not really sure how it works for normal people.

 

“I’m afraid to lose this.” Matt admits, and even though it’s not a lie he’s glad Foggy can’t feel his heartbeat anymore. It’s going too fast. Guilty. “I want it so much, but I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up.”

 

“We’ve only been together for twenty minutes.” Foggy reminds him, fondly exasperated. “And you’re already worrying. Beware the frowny broody lines, Matt.” He pokes Matt’s forehead, presumably where the ‘frowny broody lines’ are. “Come on, we’ve stuck together this long—we’re already past the seven-year itch. Sort of.”

 

“The seven-year _friendship_ itch.” Matt reminds him. “This is different.” Foggy doesn’t seem convinced.

 

“Eh, not really. I mean, I’ve been in love with you for more than seven years.” He points out like this is totally obvious and not earth-shattering. He kisses Matt’s shoulder lightly, and Matt wishes it were against skin rather than shirt. Maybe naked lazy kissing on the couch could be arranged.

 

“Oh.” Matt says, stunned and pleased. “I love you too. But there are things.” Matt tries valiantly to think past the rather distracting Foggy on top of him, because this is important. “Things that you should know about me.”

 

He can’t do this. He can’t just pull Foggy into a relationship with him while Matt’s still _lying_ to him. He needs to tell the truth.

 

Honesty is important in a relationship.

 

“Okay, sure.” Foggy agrees easily. “What should I know? Are you a blanket hog? A jealous lover? A badass brooder on the lam from the law?”

 

“What?” Matt asks blankly. Foggy doesn’t say the last one with any particular, accusing sort of emphasis. He throws it out just as lightly as the other two, and whatever Matt’s expression is, it makes Foggy laugh.

 

“Should I take that as a yes?” He teases. “What sort of secrets have you been hiding from me, Matthew Murdock? Are you actually Batman in your spare time?”

 

Matt _is_ a blanket hog, and he _is_ a jealous lover, and he _is_ a badass on the lam from the law, although the brooding is really open to interpretation—Matt sees it more as melancholy meditation, himself.

 

But Foggy was joking. Foggy _is_ joking. He doesn’t know. Crime is just on the brain after the night they’ve had. Asking if someone is a wanted fugitive is just a basic, routine question before starting a relationship, right? It’s like a job interview, with sex.

 

“I…” Matt hesitates. “Can be a little jealous.”

 

He can also be a coward.

 

“Ha, I knew it!” Foggy says triumphantly. “Totally called it.” He pats Matt’s cheek tenderly. “Don’t worry, I am 100% loyal. I’m like a sheepdog, shaggy but sweet and a faithful companion.”

 

“Good to know.” Matt can’t help a smile at the thought, despite his gloomy thoughts. “I always wanted a guide dog. Should I get you a collar?”

 

“Ha ha.” Foggy drawls, poking him again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Matt jostles him gently, careful of Foggy’s side.

 

“No, really, it might be nice.” He continues innocently. “We could get a leash too.”

 

“You’re a kinky menace.” Foggy informs him bluntly. “No.” Matt laughs.

 

“All I’m saying is…”

 

It goes on like that for a while, teasing each other and kissing and eventually falling asleep together on the couch. And the whole time, some part of Matt is screaming _tell him, tell him, tell him._ Matt takes that part of him and locks it away in the darkest corner of his mind, the place where he puts everything that he doesn’t want to think about. Then he keeps laughing and joking and flirting and pretending that everything’s okay.

 

Everything _is_ okay. He’ll tell Foggy soon. He just has to wait until they’re steadier as a couple, until he knows that Foggy will stay. Just a little longer.

 

He’s not telling Foggy the truth, but he’s not telling him an _untruth_ either. Does that count as a lie?

 

Matt can’t tell the difference anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Sleepwalking.”

 

Foggy edges past him into the apartment, taking a sharp breath as he takes in the full extent of the damage.

 

“Nightmare?” Matt nods. This whole night has been a nightmare. He should have known never to trust Stick. “Must have been a hell of a bad dream.”

 

“Pretty bad.” Matt agrees, shutting the door behind him. “I’m sorry. Not much of a fun night, is it?” He hadn’t known Foggy was coming, or he’d have prepared a better excuse.

 

This is going to be one of the (very few) problems with dating Foggy, Matt realizes. Foggy’s spontaneous—he likes living in the moment. He always has. And normally Matt loves it, because heaven knows he could use a little help coming out of his shell, but lately it’s been....problematic. Foggy likes spending evenings together, but Matt’s evenings have been all booked up. It’s been hard, trying to juggle Foggy and the mask—it’s dizzying, the amount of verbal acrobatics Matt’s had to use just to keep Foggy from finding out.

 

And that’s when they were just friends. Dating him is going to be like navigating a minefield.

 

“Hey, this isn’t a booty call.” Foggy reminds him gently. “I’m not here for a ‘fun night’. I’m here to see you—and I have to say, I’m glad I came. Knowing you, you’d have come into work tomorrow and acted like you _didn’t_ just wreck your own apartment in a fit of…sleep-fighting?” He guesses, a little wry. “Is that what we’re going with here?”

 

“Sleep-fighting.” Matt agrees. There’s a clatter of wood, probably Foggy toeing at one of the many pieces of furniture scattered throughout the apartment. “It was—intense.”

 

“Huh.” Foggy mutters, follows by another clatter. “Did you at least win your sleep-fight?” Matt considers this question for a moment.

 

“I didn’t lose it?” He offers, unsure. He has no idea what happened, honestly.

 

“Good enough for me.” Foggy says, and Matt has the impression that he’s shrugging. Foggy really does go with the flow, doesn’t he? “You want some help cleaning this place up?”

 

Matt doesn’t want to ask such a big favor, but he’s been asking a lot of big favors lately. Mostly after lying, just like this. He nods.

 

It goes relatively well, until Foggy makes just the smallest sound, almost a gasp. Matt freezes. He knows that sound—he’s made it himself, far more often than he’d like.

 

That’s the sound of someone trying to hide that they’re in pain.

 

“Stop.” Matt orders. Foggy does, the clicks and clacks of debris being moved pausing. “Sit down. The couch is alright, isn’t it?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy seems confused. “But we’re nowhere near done. This place still looks like it got hit by a hurricane.”

 

“That’s okay.” Matt assures him. It’s not like aesthetics matter much to him anyway, and who is he trying to impress? Foggy has to be at least peripherally aware of how screwed up Matt is at this point. “ _Sit.”_

“Fine.” Foggy surrenders after a silent moment of rebellion. There’s a slight scuff of fabric when Foggy sits down. “So, are we just taking five or is this your new decorating scheme? Because I have to tell you, there’s edgy and then there’s over-the-edgy-crazy-man. This is the latter.”

 

“I’ll fix it later.” Matt waves him off. “You need to rest. Why didn’t you tell me your side was hurting?”

 

“Because it’s not that bad.” Matt would know he was lying even without the spike in heartbeat. “How did you know it hurt at all? I was being manly and stoic.”

 

“Psychic powers.” Matt replies without missing a beat. It’s almost true. “You shouldn’t push yourself. You’re still recovering.” Foggy snorts.

 

“Like you can talk.” Foggy huffs. “I don’t get how you’re even walking. You got hit by a car _and_ a bomb.” Matt shrugs.

 

“I’m tougher than I look.” He offers vaguely. Foggy does not seem impressed.

 

“You’re _jinxed.”_ He corrects Matt. “Before the car you tripped into a wall, and before that you cut yourself making dinner, and before _that_ you slipped in a puddle and messed up your back. Have you been breaking mirrors and kicking black cats when I’m not around? Because this is getting a little freaky.”

 

“I think I have quite good luck.” Matt muses. “I’m alive, relatively healthy, and working at my dream job. I’m also dating the most amazing man I’ve ever met—the love of my life, in fact. That seems pretty lucky to me.”

 

There is a short silence.

 

“Damn, you’re good.” Foggy sounds grudgingly impressed. “I think I just swooned a little.” Matt beams at him. “But you’re not _that_ good. You sit down, or I stand up and keep working.”

 

This is not an option. Matt immediately goes to sit down, before a thought strikes him. He forgot last time, in light of more dazzling revelations, but this is his chance!

 

“Hold on.” He mutters, and hurries off despite Foggy’s warnings to sit your ass on the couch now, Murdock, before you keel over. It doesn’t take long—a quick stop in the bedroom and then to the freezer. Then he’s back and settling in on the couch, draping his softest blanket over them. He holds out his offering to Foggy solemnly, and Foggy takes it with a surprised laugh.

 

“Thor’s Hammers.” He murmurs in awe. “They haven’t made these in forever.” Matt nods, eager.

 

“I got the last box.” He explains proudly. “I’ve been saving them for an emergency.”

 

“And this is an emergency?” Foggy asks, amused. Matt nods again earnestly.

 

“You’re in pain” He reminds Foggy. “That’s an emergency. And they worked for me when I was hurt. _And_ you like them.”

 

“I…do.” Foggy’s voice is a little thick, quiet. “Thanks.” Matt smiles at him, and listens to the crinkle of the wrapper. “I thought these were discontinued months ago, though. How’d you get ahold of them?”

 

“I got them months ago.” Matt explains happily. “It’s a good thing that popsicles don’t expire.”

 

There is a small pause.

 

“You do realize that popsicles aren’t wine, right?” Foggy wonders dryly. “They don’t get better with age.” Oh. Matt fiddles with his popsicle stick. “But I’m sure these are great.” Foggy adds quickly, obviously seeing his self-consciousness. “See? Yummy.”

 

Matt’s smile widens again and he opens his own wrapper. After the first lick, he has to force himself to swallow.

 

“They’re completely iced over.” He mourns, wincing at the watery, stale taste. “I didn’t think popsicles could _get_ freezer burn. They’re already frozen.”

 

“No, they’re good.” Foggy reassures him weakly. Matt shoots him a baleful look. “Okay, maybe not the tastiest thing in the world, but the sentiment behind them is sweet, even if the popsicles are—is this sour? Bitter? I don’t even know. It’s sort of just…ick.” Matt nods in sheepish agreement. “I do feel better though, so I guess the magic works with just one lick.”

 

“We should probably throw them out though.” Matt suggests. “They might actually be toxic.” They certainly taste like they could be some kind of watery, weak poison. Matt’s pretty sure that’s not possible, but it’s better to be safe.

 

So, the popsicles were a miss, but Matt thinks there’s no way he can mess up a blanket.

 

“Are these _bloodstains?”_ Foggy asks, sounding alarmed. God _damn_ it. Matt had wrapped himself up in it the last time he felt truly awful, and he must have had a cut or two. He hadn’t noticed—it’s not like he could survey the damage. He’s not so good at picking out stains.

 

Matt pulls the blanket out of his hands.

 

“Hot chocolate.” He lies. “I must have spilled some the last time I used it. Let me just get a clean one.” He heads back to the bedroom and finds another blanket. He hasn’t used this one in a while, so he thinks it’s safe. He can’t check it for stains, and for a desperate moment Matt considers licking it to check for an iron taste, but he thinks that might be a bit too much. He settles for sniffing, and when he can’t find any trace of sharp metallic blood, he brings it back into the room.

 

“Oh, hey, I remember this one. You had it on your bed at the dorm.” Foggy reminisces, fondly nostalgic. He seems to have forgotten about the bloodstains, buying Matt’s excuse. Matt relaxes. Crisis averted.

 

“It’s one of my favorites.” He admits. “Here.”

 

They huddle up under the blanket, and it’s perfect. He’s sitting in the middle of his mostly-destroyed living room, after tasting what might be poisonous popsicles and _almost_ tasting his own blankets for blood, and he feels the best he has all night.

 

“I got you a present.” Foggy tells him quietly, after what must be an hour of simple cuddling. Matt hums curiously. “Okay, let me lean.” Matt reluctantly lets go just enough to let Foggy lean off the couch and grab his bag. “I was going to show you later—I only just got it done, and I was going to wait for a dramatic moment, but I think this is better.”

 

He presses something into Matt’s hands, flat and squared and a little weighty. Matt feels along it, interested. When he finally realizes that it is, he swallows hard.

 

“It’s amazing.” He runs his fingers over the raised words again. _Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law._ “And expensive.” That’s just a guess, but it _feels_ expensive. It feels priceless.

 

“Nah, it wasn’t too bad.” Foggy scoffs, and it’s pretty clear that it was very expensive but he’s never going to admit it. “I was thinking about getting ‘Avocados at Law’ instead, but I thought this looked a little more professional.”

 

“Just a little.” Matt agrees, indulgent. He feels the letters again, one more time. “We’ll put it up tomorrow.” He can’t wait.

 

This is what he needed. He’s had a horrible day, and the deeper he gets into the darker side of Hell’s Kitchen, the more he realizes that there’s so much more to come. He’s been feeling a little jaded, honestly, but this—this is what he works for.

 

This is why he wears the mask and lets the Devil out.

 

This is why he lies.

 

“What’s with the mopey face?” Foggy wonders. “You were happy a second ago.” Matt shakes his head, forcing a smile. It’s not too hard, with the sign under his hands, but it’s still an effort.

 

“Nothing, I just—I’m not sure I deserve you.” Matt confesses. Foggy trusts him, and loves him, and bought him a sign, and Matt’s lying to him.

 

“Don’t be a dope.” Foggy advises sagely. “We’re good together.” That’s true. Foggy makes Matt good. “We’re also both pretty clearly exhausted, and it’s going to take a lot longer than one night to get this place back to its former glory. Couch-nap?”

 

He says it brightly, and Matt can understand the feeling. He’s got a new fondness for this couch after their previous encounter on it. It was one of the best nights of sleep Matt’s ever had.

 

“Bed-nap.” He counteroffers, and Foggy makes a pleased sound.

 

"I like the way you think. I’ve wanted to try out your bed for a while. It looks so fluffy.”

 

“It really is.” Matt informs him, and lets Foggy lead him into the bedroom. Most people, he thinks, would probably assume ‘try out your bed’ means ‘have wild sex’, but Matt knows better. Foggy’s heart is steady and his breathing is normal, his temperature the same as it’s been all night. He’s not aroused—he’s just sleepy, and he wants to sleep in Matt’s bed with him.

 

It’s almost better than sex. There’s something intimate about falling into bed together just because you want to fall into bed together, rather than as a stepping-stone to something more active.

 

It’s almost worse than sex too, Mat thinks later. Foggy is fast asleep beside him, hands fisted in Matt’s shirt and their legs tangled together. Matt wants this every single night, and if things continue as they are, he’s never going to have it. Foggy’s a heavy sleeper, but not _that_ heavy. There’s no way that Matt can sneak out without Foggy noticing, and how is Matt going to explain that?

 

He just wanted to take a midnight stroll? He thought he’d go to the 24-hour store while it wouldn’t be as crowded? He was going to do some paperwork?

 

Not only would Foggy not buy it, he might also get the wrong idea. Someone you’re sleeping with starts disappearing all night and showing up later tired and distracted, and when you ask they give you lame excuses and avoid the question. Matt’s first guess? Cheating on you. And Foggy thinking that about him would break Matt’s heart— _both_ of their hearts.

 

So Matt needs to tell him. If he’s going to be sleeping with Foggy, and he knows he is, he’s _got_ to tell him. There’s only so far he can go with this thing, and looking like a cheater is miles beyond that point.

 

There are a lot of things Matt would lie about, but not this. Never this.

 

He’ll start planning tomorrow, after they put the sign up. He’ll plan the best date in the world, and he’ll write up a speech that explains everything and practice it until he’s memorized every word. When Matt’s spent the whole day proving how much he loves Foggy and how happy Matt can make him, then Matt will tell him the truth. The truth about the lies, and about everything else.

 

Foggy’s going to be _furious._ Matt swallows at just the idea of his reaction. But it has to be done. It’s like Foggy’s stitches—it hurts in the moment, and for a while after, but in the end it will make you better. Matt can make this better.

 

Matt just needs a little more time to come up with the perfect way to tell the truth. A little more time to hide in that dreamlike bliss of having Foggy like this, warm and comfortable, no anger or betrayal.

 

Just a little more lying. Lying to Foggy, yes, but most of all lying to himself. Matt knows it’s not going to be okay, but one more lie won’t hurt. He’ll have to face the truth soon enough, but it’s nice to pretend that everything will work out without tears and pain. Maybe it _will_ work out without tears and pain. Maybe.

 

Matt’s even better at lying to himself than he is at lying to Foggy.

 

* * *

 

“I forgot something at the office.”

 

“Oh. Can’t you get it tomorrow?” Foggy begs. His voice isn’t quite slurred yet, but it’s close. He’s almost had too much to drink.

 

Matt knows the feeling. He feels like drinking until he passes out and forget that this day never happened, but he doesn’t have the luxury. He needs to find Fisk, tonight, and end this. Elena Cardenas is going to get the justice she deserves, and so are the hundreds of other people that Fisk has destroyed in his mad crusade.

 

“It’s my apartment key.” Matt admits sheepishly, fingers twitching towards where his key rests safe and sound in his pocket. “I’ll need it a bit sooner than tomorrow.”

 

This is the first time Matt’s lied about something he’s _going_ to do rather than something he’s already done. It feels strange, worse than the other lies. Matt thinks it’s because the rest were done after the fact, when it was too late to change anything and all Matt wanted to do was protect Foggy’s feelings. Now though, now Matt’s lying because he knows Foggy would try to stop him, and Matt can’t let that happen. It’s to protect himself, not Foggy.

 

“It’s okay, you can just use mine.” Foggy offers generously. “I still have the spare you gave me. You can grab yours in the morning.”

 

Of course, the spare. Matt curses internally. He should have planned for the spare.

 

“Thank you, but I’d feel better if you kept it. You never know what might happen, and I want you to have a way in if you need it.” Matt tries. “I’ll be fine by myself.”

 

“I sort of assumed we’d be going home together.” Foggy admits, sounding uncertain and a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t think either of us would want to be alone tonight.”

 

Uncertain. Foggy should never be uncertain about whether Matt wants to take him home. He certainly shouldn’t be embarrassed about wanting it. Matt wants it more than anything.

 

Just not tonight.

 

“I’m more worried about Karen.” Matt tells him, nodding towards the bathroom where he can hear Karen blowing her nose and sniffling. She’s more upset than Matt and Foggy, or at least she shows it in the most overt way. “I think it might be better if you stay with her, make sure she gets home safely.”

 

“I guess.” Foggy agrees reluctantly. “But I’m worried about you too. We could all go together, walk Karen home and then go back to your place—or mine, I’m not picky.”

 

He sounds even more embarrassed now, like he knows that Matt’s saying no and he’s wishing he never brought it up in the first place. It’s horrible, and Matt wants to take it all back and say that yes, let’s go home, I don’t need to go out tonight and destroy that monster known as Wilson Fisk once and for all. Of course, he could only say that if Foggy knew the truth, and Foggy doesn’t yet.

 

Matt’s getting to that part. Honestly.

 

“You seem sleepy, and it’s been a hard night.” Matt says delicately. “Besides, I’d like a chance to wander, clear my head and tire myself out. It might take a while, and it’s not fair to drag you around the city like that.”

 

“I don’t mind.” Foggy assures him quickly. “I’d like it.” Of course he would, because Foggy’s perfect for him. Foggy would _like_ staying up at night and wandering Hell’s Kitchen, just like Matt does.

 

Well, not _just_ like Matt does. Matt is keeping Foggy as far away from Matt’s ‘nightlife’ as possible. He has to, at least until Foggy knows.

 

And honestly? Even when Matt tells him everything, he’s not sure he can tell Foggy about this part. Matt wants violence tonight, not just the necessary fighting but revenge. _Brutality_. He’s thought more than once about killing Fisk, and Foggy would be horrified. Father Lantom had been right: Matt’s not sure if he needs to do it or just wants to, and he’s not sure which is worse.

 

If Matt kills Fisk, and then tells Foggy what he does at night, it’s not that hard to put two and two together. Foggy will figure it out in a second. Matt hopes that Foggy will eventually forgive him for the rest, but murder? Never.

 

So he can’t kill Fisk, but he can hurt him. Very badly.

 

“Foggy, I think I need a little time to myself right now.” Matt feels sick just saying it, because it sounds like a rejection and that’s not what it is, not ever. “But I’ll talk to you tomorrow. We can spend the whole day together, every second. I just need tonight.”

 

Matt forces himself not to hold his breath, waiting for an answer. He can hear every beat of Foggy’s heart, counting the seconds before he speaks.

 

“Okay, Matt.” Foggy sounds unhappy, but he also sounds like he understands. “Take as long as you need. Just stay out of trouble, alright? No more accidents when I’m not around to save you.”

 

Matt can’t promise that, no matter how much he wants to. ‘Accidents’ seem to be a part of his life now.

 

“I’ll be careful.” He tells Foggy, because that’s all he can offer without lying and he’s already spun enough lies tonight for a lifetime.

 

“I hope so.” Foggy murmurs, and he sounds so sad that Matt can’t help pulling him into a fierce hug.

 

“I will.” He says again, and before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea he leans in to give Foggy a kiss, much too deep and long to be acceptable in public. He needs Foggy to know, though, that this isn’t Matt rejecting him. Matt just needs tonight, and it will be finished.

 

“Oh.” Karen whispers, stunned. Matt is ashamed to admit that he doesn’t pull away immediately. The word is quiet enough that Foggy didn’t hear, and he’s too distracted to notice that Karen’s come back, and Matt feels a rather desperate urge to show the world that he’s choosing Foggy. He has Foggy and he’s not going to lose him.

 

Maybe if the rest of the world believes it, Matt will too.

 

“Stay safe.” Matt orders gently. “I love you.”

 

“Love you.” Foggy replies dutifully, a little dazed. At least he doesn’t sound unsure and out of place anymore. Good. “Oh, Karen. Uh, hi. This is…exactly what it looks like, actually.”

 

Matt knows that Karen won’t be angry, but he’s still curious about what she _will_ be. Karen gives a wet laugh.

 

“At least something’s gone right today.” She muses. “Congratulations.”

 

Matt really does like Karen. He really does.

 

“Make sure Foggy gets home alright.” He requests, even though he’d told Foggy to do the same for Karen. He doesn’t care which order they do it in, so long as it ends with both of them safe and Foggy happy.

 

“Sure.” Karen agrees, and Matt gives Foggy one last quick kiss before leaving him to be interrogated by a woman in need of good news. They’ll take care of each other. Matt’s got work to do.

 

One more night of lies, and it’ll be over.

 

* * *

 

“Let me guess—you got mugged. You got mugged by, hmm, about a dozen razor-clawed wolverines with combat training who happen to hate men in black masks.”

 

Matt groans and tries to move, but Foggy doesn’t let him, pressing him back down into the couch. He put down a sheet, Matt notices gratefully. He loves this couch—it’s got so many good memories now. It’s his cuddle couch, and he doesn’t want it getting ruined with blood.

 

“Your friend Claire said you shouldn’t move too much.” Foggy warns him. “Which, just to be clear, having a pretty girl’s number on a secret burner phone that you use pretty much exclusively at night? Does _not_ look good.”

 

“Not cheating.” Matt manages, and Foggy snorts.

 

“Duh.” Foggy says like this is a given. Matt supposes it is. “Don’t worry, Claire explained it. Claire explained pretty much _everything_ , actually.”

 

That sounds…ominous. Matt swallows.

 

“Everything?” He asks warily. Foggy hums thoughtfully, pushing Matt back down again when he tries to get up—maybe to get more comfortable, maybe to run like hell.

 

“Mm, yeah. She seemed to think I already knew. Because, she said, why would you _not_ tell your best friend, partner and newly-minted boyfriend about your nighttime _hobbies_?” Matt winces.

 

“I was going to.” He tries weakly. Foggy ignores him.

 

“And you know what? She was right. I did already know.” Foggy continues deliberately. “But not because you told me, which is really how it should have gone.”

 

Matt considers for a moment that he might still be bleeding in that warehouse, and this is a nightmare or some sort of strange near-death experience.

 

“You know?” How _much_ does Foggy know? Maybe Matt can salvage this if there are enough secrets he can confess to. That way he’ll still look eager and willing to be honest about _something._ “About…?”

 

“Everything.” Foggy repeats firmly. “And I gotta tell you Matt, I was _trying_ to be patient. I was _trying_ to let you come to me when you were ready. I was _trying_ to be a supportive best friend-boyfriend, but it was getting hard to play dumb all the time.”

 

“You’re not dumb.” Matt assures him. There, something to be truthful about. Good start.

 

“Really? Because going by the excuses you gave me, you think I’m a perfect 10—on the _IQ scale_.”

 

“No!” Matt denies, alarmed. He tries to sit up again, but can’t make it far before slumping back on the cushions, aching.

 

“Well, the only other option is that you actually thought they were convincing, which would be—wait.” Matt bites his lip. “Wow. _Really?”_ Matt gives a tiny, careful shrug, and his face feels hot from embarrassment. “Matt, they were _awful._ I mean, a sleep-fight?”

 

“There have been cases.” Matt hedges. “It’s been used as a defense in a criminal trial.”

 

“Is this a criminal trial?” Foggy wonders thoughtfully. “I guess you _are_ a criminal, and right now I’m feeling like a pretty damn pissed-off judge. And jury. And maybe executioner depending on how this goes.”

 

Matt flinches. He’s relatively sure that Foggy’s exaggerating for dramatic effect. Hopefully. He rolls a little farther away on the couch, just in case, and Foggy sighs.

 

“Ugh, you look like a kicked puppy, and I was wearing cleats when I kicked you.” Foggy says ruefully. “Don’t do that. I’m mad, but I’m not ever going to hurt you.”

 

The couch dips a little as Foggy sits carefully on the edge. Matt ignores his orders to sit still and immediately starts wiggling industriously until he can settle his head on Foggy’s lap.

 

“When did you find out?” Matt asks, feeling a little better now that he’s touching Foggy. Things are stilled messed up, but if Foggy’s touching him back then they can’t be ruined completely.

 

“I actually believed the first few.” Foggy admits. “And then you said that you fell out of a tree while rescuing a cat. You had these bruises, and unless the tree was aiming for the kidneys while wearing steel-toed boots, you were lying.”

 

Matt had been proud of that excuse. It was innocuous enough to pass inspection, but still explained a significant amount of non-fatal injury and made him look heroic. He’d been wondering if he could use it again—although he wouldn’t have to, clearly, because he was going to tell Foggy the truth tomorrow. He was.

 

Apparently he didn’t need to.

 

“That actually _was_ a mugger.” He confesses. “He was just mugging somebody else.”

 

“And you swooped in and stopped him?” Matt nods. “Good. I mean, bad that you got in a fight, but good that you got in a fight for the right reasons.” Matt brightens. “I guess all the other ‘accidents’ were for the rights reasons too?”

 

“All of them.” Matt promises. Foggy is quiet for a long moment.

 

“You know, I had all these horrible ideas before I figured it out.” Foggy admits softly. “Abuse, maybe. Owing money to the mob. Underground fight club. And I was going to confront you, take names and raise hell, but then I saw the newspaper.”

 

“Something showed up.” Matt guesses, guarded. “Something I did.”

 

“A group of arms dealers, yeah. Beaten to a pulp, all of them. And you were all bruised up again that morning. So I thought it was a crazy idea, but I told you about the story. And you _smirked._ Not grinned at the idea of karma, not smiled at the thought that justice had been done—you smirked because _you_ were the karma, _you_ were the justice.”

 

Matt remembers that morning. It had been absolutely lovely, because Foggy had spent close to an hour admiring whatever ‘brave, noble man’ had taken down the dealers. Now that Matt’s thinking about it, Foggy _did_ seem a little too appreciative, almost pointed in his praise.

 

He’d been waiting for Matt to admit it. He’d given Matt a chance, and instead Matt had offered to buy him coffee to celebrate this brilliant new hero—which might have come across as a little narcissistic, if Foggy knew the truth. Honestly, Matt had wanted to hear more about how amazing he was, so it _was_ a little narcissistic.

 

“Did you really think I was brave and noble?” Matt wonders uncertainly. “Or was that a trap?” Foggy sighs.

 

“No, I really thought you were brave and noble. And clever, and strong, and ‘probably pretty sexy, why the hell not’ and everything else I offered as a helpful hint that morning.” Foggy assures him. Matt smiles, snuggling a little closer, and Foggy makes an exasperated sound but runs a gentle hand through his hair. “You’re lucky I found out before the bombs, or things could have gotten ugly.”

 

“Is that why you were so sure the masked man was innocent?” Matt recalls how quickly and completely Foggy had defended him. Was that because he somehow knew it was Matt? “You didn’t know about the mask.” Possibly. Apparently Foggy knew a lot Matt didn’t know that he did.

 

“Well, no. But I knew you were a street fighter that liked to beat up baddies, and not to be creepy, but I don’t really need to see your face to recognize you. You have kind of a distinctive silhouette, in the best way. I’m not leering.” Foggy hastens to reassure him. “I just—you know. Notice.”

 

“I don’t mind.” Matt actually thinks it’s kind of satisfying that Foggy notices him that much, although it seems to have undermined his attempts at a secret identity. “Is that why you were so upset?” Foggy strokes his hair again.

 

“Yeah. And so then I gave you another chance to tell me, and you kissed me instead. Not that I’m complaining, but it was a pretty good opportunity for confessions of all kinds, Matt. Not just ones of eternal devotion.”

 

“I was going to tell you once we’d been together for a while. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” Matt explains earnestly.

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy replies flatly. “So I should have expected a confession somewhere around our golden anniversary, is what you’re saying.”

 

“Fifty years?” Matt perks up at the idea. Does Foggy really think they’re going to be together in fifty years for their golden anniversary? That’s a good sign—no one would stay with someone they hated for fifty years. Foggy must plan to forgive him somewhere down the line.

 

“That was more of a sarcastic—oh, forget it. Sounds good.” Foggy concedes wearily. “Fifty years. But it’s going to be fifty years of telling the truth and not pretending to get mugged, right?” Matt nods eagerly, hiding a wince when it makes his sore neck twinge. “Okay. On one condition.”

 

“Anything.” Matt agrees, content. Fifty years, and Foggy’s going to forgive him. Foggy doesn’t even seem that mad—worried, yes, but not as furious as Matt thought he’d be.

 

“Good. Here’s the deal. Every time I think you’re telling a lie, I’m going to do…this.” Fingers brush gently against Matt’s neck, pressing just below his jaw with loving tenderness. Right over the pulse. “And you’re going to tell me again, and I’m going to listen to your heartbeat while you talk. So please don’t try to lie.”

 

“But that’s not…” _Fair._ Matt’s the only one who is supposed to know when someone’s lying. “It might not work.”

 

“It worked the last time I tried, during the bombs.” Foggy points out cleverly. “And it shouldn’t matter, because you’re not going to lie to me, are you?”

 

“Nope.” Matt promises. “Not ever.” There’s a brief silence.

 

“You’re lying about _lying._ That is a new low.” Foggy accuses. Matt winces. This is horrible. He’s going to have to work on controlling his heartbeat better.

 

“I might be a little loose with the pain scale.” Matt offers timidly. “It would be a fib, really. Not a lie. Just to make sure you don’t worry.”

 

Another pause.

 

“And _that’s_ the truth. A dumb truth, by the way. You do _not_ try to be a noble robot. You’re in pain, you tell me, and we get you patched up and happy. It’ll save us all a lot of grief. Agreed?” Matt hesitates.

 

“Agreed.” Matt sighs finally, defeated. “I love you.” Foggy still wants to take care of him, thank god. That’s something to be grateful for, just another reason to love Foggy and tell him so as often as possible.

 

“Hmm, truth again.” Foggy informs him, sounding grudgingly pleased. “I like this. Being a human polygraph is fun. Is this what it’s like for you all the time?”

 

“I suppose.” Matt says warily. Most people probably wouldn’t relish the idea of being exposed for every lie they’ve told. “Claire told you?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Pretty cool. I mean, a little worrying, sure, but I’ll get used to it. It explains your eerie intuition, anyway. So, my turn to be an eerie intuitive polygraph.” He taps his own fingers once. “Tell a lie.”

 

There are a lot of lies to choose from, about the mask and Matt’s past and what Matt wants for the future, but Matt doesn’t want those. He wants something new, something secret, something special—something that’s hard to say when he’s telling the truth. Lying is easier though. Matt can do that.

 

He can use a lie to tell the truth.

 

“I don’t dream about you every night.” Matt says quietly. His heart quickens immediately with the lie, and Foggy takes a sharp breath.

 

“Now tell the truth.” He asks softly. Matt closes his eyes and smiles.

 

“I dream in color, and you’re all the brightest colors I remember.”

 

“ _Oh.”_ Foggy whispers faintly. “That’s beautiful.” He hesitates. “And they’re good dreams, right?”

 

“Very good dreams.” Matt agrees, and Foggy sighs.

 

“You really are infuriatingly charming.” Foggy muses wryly, but that thick note of awe is still in his voice. “And tired—pretty clearly tired. Okay. You go to sleep and have some of those good dreams. I can be mad at you later. And I _will_ be mad.” He scolds, but judging from his tone he’s not so sure about that part. “But later.”

 

“Later.” Matt echoes, and he _is_ tired or else he’d spend more time trying to convince Foggy to forgive him. It seems like he’s already halfway there though. Matt thought it would take until their silver anniversary to get this far. “You’re staying?”

 

“I’m kind of pinned down.” Foggy points out, bouncing his legs gently. Matt shifts so that he’s more firmly on top of Foggy, just to be sure. “Are you seriously planning to keep me here all night?” He asks, amused. Matt’s smile widens, dozy.

 

“Every night.” He corrects him, and presses up against Foggy’s fingers just a little more, so it’s easier to listen to his pulse. “Truth or lie?”

 

Matt can hear his own heart, so he knows the answer, but he’s hoping Foggy does too. Foggy’s fingers stay very still for a moment, and then he pulls away to run them up over Matt’s jaw before resting them gently against his lips.

 

“Truth.” Foggy decides finally, tracing the curve of Matt’s smile. “Now hush and go to sleep.  You can spill more secrets in the morning.”

 

“Love you.” Matt mumbles, a little muffled against Foggy’s fingers, because one more truth won’t hurt.

 

Just one more.

 

* * *

 

“Slipped on a banana peel?”

 

“Took down a Swedish gambling den.” Matt corrects him. “No cuts, only a few bruises, one on the pain scale.”

 

“One is good.” Foggy approves. “Zero would be better, but I’ll take one.” Matt nods, shuffling past him to the fridge and pulling out the milk. “No, don’t you dare drink from the carton.”

 

Matt dares to drink from the carton.

 

“They’re calling me Daredevil, you know.” He explains after he’s done, putting the milk back. “I have to take any and all dares.”

 

“I dare you to take a shower. You’re all sweaty.” Foggy challenges quickly. Matt shrugs and starts tugging Foggy to the bathroom. “Whoa, no way. If I come we’ll end up wasting all the hot water and you’ll be even sweatier.”

 

“Sounds good.” Matt admits shamelessly, turning on the water and starting to strip. “So, how are you? I haven’t seen you all day.” Foggy snorts.

 

“You haven’t seen me all _eve_ r.” He points out dryly. “And don’t blame me for today. You’re the one who decided to spend his Saturday taking down Swedish gambling dens instead of sleeping in like a sane person.”

 

“We can sleep in tomorrow.” Matt coaxes. “After church.” Foggy groans.

 

“No church.” He whines, and Matt smiles at him consolingly.

 

“Father Lantom likes talking to you.” He offers kindly. Foggy huffs.

 

“That’s because we like gossiping about you. Your priest confesses to _me,_ Matt, mostly about how insane he thinks you are.” Matt’s heard their conversations, which mostly revolve around yes, how impossible Matt is, but also how much they care about him anyway.

 

These conversations might or might not be Matt’s new favorite reason for going to church.

 

“Then you’ll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.” Matt points out cheerfully. “Besides, I want to tell him that we’re officially living together.”

 

“We’ve been unofficially living together for months. I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to be a huge bombshell.” Foggy informs him, amused. “Besides, we’re still living in sin.”

 

Matt shrugs.

 

“Then we should get married. No more living in sin.” He offers easily, finally peeling off the last of the suit. “Come on, your turn. Clothes off.”

 

“You’re certainly not shy, are you?” Foggy laughs when Matt grins and starts tugging at Foggy’s shirt too. A moment later, the words seem to sink in. “Wait, what?”

 

“Why not?” Matt wonders. “We’re already partners.” He finally gets Foggy’s shirt off and goes for the pants. “Why do you even bother wearing buttons on the weekend? They just take longer to undo.”

 

“Uh, because not all of us get to skip around in leather catsuits?” Foggy mutters weakly. “Did you seriously just ask me to marry you? You’re just standing there naked on top of your Daredevil suit and asking me to marry you?”

 

“Actually, I’m _kneeling_ there naked on top of my Daredevil suit.” Matt points out, moving on to Foggy’s zipper. “So I’m in the classic proposal position.” He grins triumphantly when he gets the zipper open, and Foggy yelps and steps back when Matt starts working the pants off energetically.

 

“You’re joking.” Foggy decides, and he seems to be going for amused but there’s still a clear note of disappointment in his voice. “Ha. Okay, funny.” Matt shakes his head, finally getting Foggy completely undressed and standing back up.

 

“I’m not joking.” He promises. “Here.” Matt takes Foggy’s hand and lifts it up to his throat, right over the pulse. He’s used to it by now—most of the time he actually initiates the test, because it feels good to _prove_ that he’s being honest. “Foggy, I want to get married. To you.” He clarifies, because it’s important to be specific with these things. No half-truths or ambiguous answers.

 

Steady heartbeat. Truth, and they can both feel it. Matt’s not even nervous. He doesn’t think Foggy will say no, but if he does Matt can just get started on convincing him. It might be a fun mission, although he’d really prefer a yes this time.

 

“This is a weird proposal.” Foggy tells him, just in case Matt wasn’t aware. And yes, standing naked in the middle of a bathroom isn't the usual venue, but it gets the job done. Matt shrugs.

 

“We’re a weird couple.” He offers bluntly. “But we’re a happy one.” Foggy sighs.

 

“True.” He agrees. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs again. “Yeah, okay. Marriage sounds good. But I get dibs on telling Father Lantom. I can’t wait to tell him how perfect little choir boy Matt Murdock proposed.”

 

Naked and kneeling on a leather catsuit while unzipping his boyfriend’s pants.

 

The sad part is, Father Lantom won’t even be surprised.

 

“He’ll probably think I corrupted you.” Matt admits, and Foggy laughs.

 

“Probably.” He says cheerfully. Father Lantom and Foggy’s friendship is both heartwarming and a little worrying for Matt. “So, fiancé. Any other heartfelt confessions as long as we’re here?”

 

Matt considers for a moment, thoughtful. He doesn’t have many secrets from Foggy, not anymore. There’s not much to confess.

 

“I stole your socks.” He admits finally. That one’s been eating away at him all week. “And I’m the one who ate your sandwich, not Karen.”

 

“You sock-stealing, sandwich-eating bastard.” Foggy breathes in a betrayed whisper. Matt smiles sheepishly.

 

“But I also love you very much.” He adds quickly. “See? Truth. The most truthful truth there is.” Foggy remains condemningly silent. “And I’ll make you a new sandwich, and buy you new socks— _and_ get you a new engagement ring.” Matt tempts desperately.

 

“Hmm.” Foggy appears to be warming a little. “Meatball sub and matching rings.”

 

“Deal.” Matt agrees eagerly. “I already have some ideas for the rings. I was thinking something textured, so that way I could feel them—engraved, maybe. Something nice, simple but sweet. I asked Claire and Karen about your skin tone, and they said silver or gold would work, or steel if we wanted to be unique, but I didn’t know if that was romantic enough, so—Mm.”

 

Foggy seems to have recovered from the treachery of the socks and sandwich, judging by the enthusiasm of the kiss. Matt sighs and leans into it, wrapping his arms around Foggy’s rather delightfully bare waist.

 

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” Foggy murmurs when he pulls away. Matt nods immediately, tilting his head and baring his neck just in case Foggy wants to check for a lie. “Anything’s fine. Silver, steel, paper, plastic.” Foggy tells him, pressing a warm kiss to the pulse point. “It’ll be perfect.”

 

“I really do love you.” Matt says again, eager to say it while Foggy can _feel_ that it’s true. “And I also think we just ran out of hot water.” He adds, a little sheepish. Foggy laughs.

 

“Well, it’ll take a while to heat up again, and we’re already naked.” He muses. “Might as well make the most of it. Engagement party sex?”

 

“Engagement party sex.” Matt agrees, letting Foggy lead him towards the bedroom. Matt hesitates, taking a deep breath to gather his courage. “Foggy?”

 

“Mm-hmm?” Foggy hums absently, tugging Matt rather insistently towards the bed.

 

“I’m going to make you so happy. I promise.” Matt whispers softly, and it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said. Foggy stops dead, turns around and kisses him. He doesn’t bother checking Matt’s heartbeat this time.

 

“Truth.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think there are two reasons behind this one, based on two questions that baffled me in the series: 1) Why did Matt think that lying to his best friend so much was a good idea? 2) How did Foggy not notice that his best friend was getting beaten black and blue on a nightly basis? Oh, and the third, most important question: Why aren't my avocados dating yet? 
> 
> So, this story was born to try and sweep those tough questions under the rug and make fluff instead. Good plan, right?


End file.
